


brand

by athletiger



Series: the ironclad winter soldier [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Branding, Hurt, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Hydra (Marvel), Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athletiger/pseuds/athletiger
Summary: Twelve rounds of electrocution, an equal amount of whipping, unknown amount of days, Tony’s mind is slipping as he realizes there is no escape from this torture while he is under watch constantly. His body is weakening quickly as blood leaks out from the open wounds on his back. HYDRA is giving him enough to survive, not enough to thrive. Yet his mind is a valuable thing, and his snark hasn’t failed him yet.





	brand

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, second fic out of supposed four while I try to get my bingo card done before the deadline (in six hours). This fills h/c prompt fill burns.
> 
> Beta'ed by [demigodscum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/demigodscum), cheered by DeadlyFang and Cady. Thank you so much!

The heat of the fire reminds Tony of his time in Afghanistan, where the forge burned brightly and provided heat and light in the otherwise dark and cold cave. However, instead of providing comfort and familiarity like it did back then when Tony held a hammer in one hand and tongs in the other, this heat is a strong and raging impersonal flame, roaring relentlessly.

Tony twitches in the hands of his captors, shivering uncontrollably as the remnants of electrocution grips his muscles and bones. His hands are outstretched above his head, cold metal handcuffs biting his wrist. Despite the chill, he is far from cold, for the forge burns the air, and sweat drips down Tony’s forehead, down his naked chest into the seam of his pants. His teeth chatter uncontrollably, but he still manages to say, “Torture by heat? That’s by far the least creative thing you’ve imagined so far.”

“Have your laugh, Mr. Stark,” Zola answers calmly behind him. “You won’t be laughing soon.”

Twelve rounds of electrocution, an equal amount of whipping, unknown amount of days, Tony’s mind is slipping as he realizes there is no escape from this torture while he is under watch constantly. His body is weakening quickly as blood leaks out from the open wounds on his back. HYDRA is giving him enough to survive, not enough to thrive. Yet his mind is a valuable thing, and his snark hasn’t failed him yet.

“Why is that? You haven’t broken me. You haven’t done _any_ of the work your buddies here have done.”

“I’m Zola, I’m a scientist, not a grunt,” Zola replies.

“And I’m Stark, an engineer and an Avenger,” Tony says back.

“Oh, I know all about you. Given a box of scraps, you’d be able to bring down this whole building. Given your tower, you can dominate the world. But given nothing, what do you have?”

“My mind and my words.”

Zola’s footsteps steps closer, his shoes thumping against the ground. “But if we take your mind away? What then?”

“I still got my words,” Tony noted. Zola huffs, a little exhale of amusement through his nose.

“Do you?” Zola asks, looking up at Tony. “We don’t need your mouth to take your mind.”

Zola steps away, revealing the forge again. A grunt takes a step closer to the forge, holding a long stick of iron into the open and roaring fire. The cuffs above release his wrists, and his arms fall to his side ungracefully, free from holding the weight of his body. But then he is forced onto his messed up back, strapped down from head to ankles.

Tony doesn’t even get a chance to roll his eyes before a grunt pries his jaw open wide. An O-ring gag enters his vision, slipping through the gap between his teeth. Completely immobile like this, Tony could only watch as a pair of metal tongs slip through his open mouth to grab his tongue. It’s a dawning horror as Tony realizes what is going to happen, and he struggles against his bonds, breathing heavily through his nose and mouth, panting, clenching his fists, jerking away…

The heat of the brand sears the air beside him, and Tony yells, still futilely shifting away. His eyes widen as the hot metal comes steadily closer. In slow-motion, Tony watches as the poker travel inch by inch towards the held muscle, sizzling ominously.

His eyes roll back into his head when the fire burns through the nerves of the pink organ. His mind statics out with whiteness. For a long moment, he hears of nothing, sees of nothing, feels of nothing except the fire that consumes all of him. Then, he hears high-pitched screams from a far distance, and it takes him a lot longer before he realizes that it’s coming from him.

Tears blur his vision, and he can’t feel his tongue at all. Fire still stings in his mind. He passes out.


End file.
